


Six Lessons

by nonelvis



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-23
Updated: 2010-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things Anita learned from River Song, and one thing River learned from Anita.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "River Song and her team" for the [who_like_giants](http://community.livejournal.com/who_like_giants/) ficathon.

**I. Archaeology**

"Archaeology is about more than just historical facts. If that's all you care about, I suggest enrolling in Professor Niemitz's class on Earth's Roman Empire instead. It's very interesting. But it's not archaeology."

Professor Song paced at the foot of the lecture hall. When she stared up at the tiered rows of seats, Anita froze. She had the sudden feeling she'd been caught doing something inappropriate, like chatting on her wristcomp, even though she'd only been recording notes on her datapad. Her thumb drifted automatically to the comp's mute switch, confirming it was still set.

"Archaeology is about people. Perhaps your other professors have allowed you to slip through with simple analytics about what an object is and how it was used. That isn't good enough. I will expect you to tell me who used these objects. Why. How they fit into the culture. Their complete context. If you don't plan to take the time to do this correctly, I hope you're aware of where the door is."

No one moved.

"Everyone agreed, then?" Professor Song asked, an eyebrow arched. "Good. Then we'll get started."

 

**II. Confidence**

Professor Song prowled the aisles of the lab, pausing at each station to observe her students' work. "Are you sure about that date, Babi?" she asked a flustered boy who immediately reached for his portable scanner and datapad. "I'd double-check the century, if I were you."

She leaned over Anita's shoulder and peered at the notes on Anita's pad. "Fourth-century Argilon Dynasty religious ornament," she said. "Does that sound right to you?"

Anita picked up the hammered bronze fragment she'd been assigned. "The edges are pounded to two millimetres, and the round indentations average five millimetres in diameter. So whoever made this was using a stone hammer so thin it couldn't have been milled before the fourth century."

Professor Song rested against the lab bench and folded her arms. "Go on."

"Extrapolating the curve of the fragment suggests the complete piece is shaped like a snake. Since the Argilons were snake-worshippers, and the soil analysis indicates the fragment probably came from somewhere in the Denebian Cluster, the Argilon Dynasty is the most likely source."

"'Most likely?' You'll have to do better than that. 'Most likely' is how we end up with toilet seats classified as ceremonial neckbands."

"Well ... um ... the scanner had an 91% certainty rating," Anita said, her hands twisting in her lap.

"Don't believe everything you see on the scanner," Professor Song said sharply. "Be sure because you _know_ it, not because a machine tells you you're right."

Anita's gaze dropped to the lab bench. "Yes, Professor." When she looked up again, Professor Song had moved on to her next victim.

Anita ran her fingers over the fragment's cratered surface. What could she have missed? Soil analysis, radiometric dating, research into fourth-century Argilon tool construction and use ... . She gripped the fragment in her palm, metal biting into her skin.

Dave, the graduate assistant, gently took Anita's hand and replaced the fragment on the lab bench. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Confidentially, your analysis is bang-on."

"Then why make me second-guess myself?"

"She's trying to toughen you up, make you question everything. She's quite good at it, really. My friend Dave and I could tell you some stories ... ." He chuckled. "Actually, you want to hear some, come by the Granary Stone after class. I'll ring Dave, have him meet us there. You should probably meet him anyway."

"Why? You trying to set me up?" she joked. That would be unfortunate, when she considered it; Dave had a handsome, open face with a brilliant smile, and a halo of shaggy, frizzy hair he never could seem to trim perfectly. Not that undergraduates were allowed to date their graduate assistants anyway, but Dave made a nice fantasy.

He blushed and laughed. "No, no. Nothing like that. Tell you about it later."

He was gone before Anita had a chance to push further – tell her about what, exactly? – so instead, she buried herself in the datapad's detailed history of the Argilon Empire. The words blurred in front of her: _bronze, metalsmithing, ornamentation._ Because the only thing she could think about was that Dave had blushed when she'd asked him about dating his friend – and that it had been terribly, terribly cute.

 

**III. Motivation**

"... so we're trying to sneak past Varillian Customs, we've done nothing wrong but we're out of bribe money, and the hyperdrive won't start because _someone's_ ripped out the secondary solenoids ... ." Proper Dave rolled his eyes at Other Dave.

"Professor Song made me do it! We'd never have been able to teleport that urn otherwise."

"Sure, dismantle my spacecraft, see how far you get next time that happens."

"So, did you make it out okay?" Anita asked. The Daves had been telling this story for the past fifteen minutes, and another equally ridiculous tale before that, but Anita wasn't paying close attention to the time. Statistics and Paleoanthropology work could wait until later. Now she had the chance to learn about what it was like to work with Professor Song. Also, there was beer.

"Barely," said Other Dave. "We got the urn onboard, Professor Song dismantled the teleport with that sonic thing of hers, and Proper Dave here got the solenoids back in place in record time. Honestly, he's a genius."

Proper Dave smirked and took a sip of beer. "Someone on the team has to be."

"And that'd be me, then?" Professor Song glided over to the bar, resting one arm around the neck of each Dave.

"Absolutely," Proper Dave said. "I'm just the idiot pilot. And by the way, if you make Dave take apart my engine again ..."

"I know, I know," Professor Song sighed. "We'll be drifting in space, at the risk of pirates and mercenary customs authorities. Won't do it again, promise."

"You're lying."

"How well you know me." She signalled the bartender, who began pulling a pint of ale. "I'll be in the back room, working on the budget. Come join me when you're done filling poor Anita's head with stories about how awful I am."

"They haven't been ..." Anita started.

"Don't worry about it," Professor Song said. "You'd figure it out eventually anyway. Though if you want to do it in person, I suggest getting a head start on your term paper. Your marks are good, but you could be doing better." She lifted the pint out of the bartender's hand. "When you're finished, you two," she said pointedly to the Daves, and then threaded her way through the tables towards the back.

Blinking, Anita watched her go. "What was that all about?" she asked.

Proper Dave exchanged a glance with Other Dave, who shook his head, smiling. "It was supposed to be a surprise," Proper Dave said. "The student at the top of the class gets to go with us on the expedition she's planning."

"No way."

"Oh yes." Other Dave clapped Anita on the back, but let his hand rest there a little longer than she'd expected. "And she wasn't kidding about the term paper. So finish up your drink and get studying. We can catch up more later."

"Right," said Anita, draining the last quarter of the beer in one go. It fizzed and burnt on the way down, bubbly and alive.

 

**IV. Denial**

Professor Song's office smelled of dust and old copper. Antique bronze pots and vases of all shapes and sizes, one nearly as tall as Anita, littered the floor; most had hanging property tags indicating they'd been pulled from storage and were waiting to be returned. Anita carefully removed three nested bowls from the only spare chair and sat down.

"You've been spending quite a bit of time with Dave," said Professor Song, not bothering to look up from the datapad she was reading.

Anita fidgeted in her chair. "He's been helping me with some questions about my paper. I've done a lot of research on the Argilon Dynasty, but he's had a whole class on it that I haven't, and ..."

"Anita."

"Yes, Professor?"

Now she put down the pad and met Anita's gaze. "Anita, do you think I'm terribly stupid, or only slightly stupid? Not that it would make a difference, since anyone with a working pair of eyes could see what's going on."

Anita groaned and bent double, head in her hands. "Please don't report me. I know we aren't supposed to be together. It just kind of happened. He told me he can't affect my grade anyway."

"He can't. That's entirely up to me."

"So it's okay?" Maybe there was still a chance she'd survive this after all. "Look, we can stop until class is over. It's only a couple more weeks. And we really have been working on my paper, I swear."

"Anita, there's only one person I know who's better at denial than I am, and you should be thankful he's not the one behind this desk. Goodness knows what he'd be teaching you anyway. Now, I'm going to pretend I never had to have this conversation with you, and you're going to put every ounce of effort you have into that paper instead of your love life. Does that sound all right?"

Anita wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans and tried to remember to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth, then again. "Absolutely, Professor," she said. "Thank you."

She replaced the bronze bowls on the chair before she left, and spent the next minute flush against the wall outside Professor Song's office, her eyes closed, until the dizzying rush faded.

 

**V. Value**

Anita waited for her grade, and waited, and waited some more. Not all her classmates had received theirs, either; some she knew were no longer competition for the open expedition slot, but there were a couple she feared could easily wrench the opportunity away from her.

The grade did not arrive. Instead, there were two words in the datapad's messaging program: _See me_.

Dave walked Anita to Professor Song's office. Classes had been over for two weeks, and handholding – and everything else – was no longer forbidden. Her fingers felt moist and clammy against Dave's, no matter how tightly he squeezed them, or how softly he whispered in her ear that she didn't have anything to worry about, that the worst that would happen is that he'd have to leave her on her own for a few weeks.

Most of the vases were gone from the office now, circular imprints of dust and floor lint all that remained. Anita gave Dave a worried glance as he closed the door, leaving her alone with Professor Song.

"This has been a very difficult decision, Anita," she began. "You weren't the only student with an outstanding paper."

Anita folded her hands in her lap, felt her blood pounding in her ears.

"In the end things were so close I consulted with a friend of mine who's quite the expert in ancient history. And he said I'd be making a mistake if I didn't bring you along."

Professor Song rose from her chair and extended a hand to Anita. "Congratulations, and welcome to the team."

Anita stood on suddenly shaky legs and clasped Professor Song's hand in return. "This is incredible. Thank you, and please thank your friend for me, too."

"Next time I see him," she said.

"So, when do we leave? And where are we going?"

"An abandoned planet, of all things. Should be quite the learning experience," Professor Song said. "It's called the Library."

 

**VI. Acceptance**

Anita found Professor Song by herself on the veranda, a glass of cold tea in her hand.

"It's the funniest thing," Professor Song said, her eyes focussed on the trees and bubbling creek in the distance. "I wanted a Terillian mint tea. That specific tea. And there was a pitcher of it on the kitchen counter, half-filled with ice and just starting to sweat, as if someone had only taken it out of the refrigerator a moment before. Like they'd left it waiting for me."

She sipped her drink. "Is that what life is like here? I just wish for something, and it happens?"

Anita nodded. "Except for wishing you were still alive."

Professor Song took her time before replying. "I'm so ... _grateful_ to him for saving us. I really am. But I don't think I was expecting an afterlife."

"I don't know if I did or not," Anita admitted. "And if I did, I don't think it looked like this. I mean, I wasn't expecting angels and clouds – but a big mansion, and all of you, and _children_ ... ." She shook her head. "Definitely wasn't expecting little kids. Even if Miss Evangelista says they're just constructs."

"So are we, now," Professor Song said. She stretched her arm in front of her, spreading her fingers in the sunlight. "I look real. I feel real. I could go swimming in that creek, and I bet the water would be ice-cold."

"It is. Trust me, Professor."

"Under the circumstances, I think you can call me 'River,' Anita."

"River." The name tasted forbidden on Anita's tongue, but she imagined she'd get used to it. She had eternity to sort that out, anyway. "Things _are_ real here. They're made from our memories. Nothing's more real than that for us, now."

"That sounds a lot less pleasant than you think."

"Look," said Anita. "You always said, be sure because you _know_ it. I know how the hazelnut ice cream from my favourite place back on Boeshane tastes. I know what grass feels like when I'm walking barefoot. And I know what it feels like when Dave holds my hand, too. Exactly the same as it did before we died."

River slipped out of her shoes and wiggled her toes in the grass. "You've got a point about the grass, anyway."

"About the rest of it, too."

"I always knew you deserved top marks."

Anita laughed. "You know, you can wish for more than things here. CAL's been taking us places in her books. We don't just sit around all day and watch the grass grow. Even though I'm pretty sure it doesn't grow at all."

"It might if we asked."

"Probably."

River took a deep breath. "I'm going to go wade in the creek, Anita. Because I can."

"Sounds like a plan," Anita said, and smiled.

"Yes," River replied, and stepped forward, finding her way.


End file.
